


passing on the train (your head against the window)

by Greet



Category: SEVENTEEN (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Barista Hansol, Caring Hansol, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, M/M, Sick Seungkwan
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-04-23
Updated: 2018-04-23
Packaged: 2019-04-26 15:38:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,238
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/14405202
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Greet/pseuds/Greet
Summary: Hansol saw him everyday on the bus ride to work.He wished he had met the round-cheeked boy under different circumstances.





	passing on the train (your head against the window)

**Author's Note:**

  * For [mainvocalrocky (infinityxu)](https://archiveofourown.org/users/infinityxu/gifts).



He took the same route every day to get to work. It wasn’t a fancy job; he was a mere barista at a local, high-end coffee shop and bakery. It hardly was enough to pay for his rent, so a car was out of the question, but he didn’t fully mind taking the bus. It was a relaxing fifteen minutes he needed in his day as he’d stare out the window, watching as cars passed by and allowing himself to get lost in the music. It carried him away, lifting the weight of exhaustion and stress off of his shoulders. In those fifteen minutes, he sunk against the plastic seating, his back aching, but his mind completely at ease. 

Another vital part of those fifteen minutes were the people that he rode with. They were usually the same ground- they all sat in the same spots, faces tucked into their phone or hidden behind a mask. They never talked, no, that would be strange, but he understood that they all simply acknowledged each others’ presences. They were are reoccuring in the starts of their workday, everyday. There was only one other person on that bus that he felt a slighter deeper connection to. A shorter boy, face pudgy and unique in his soft but angled features. He always had the same pair of cheap, white earbuds in his ears, his face distant as he stared out the window, hands folded in his lap. He always wore some kind of sweater, a collared shirt beneath and a nice pair of slacks. There was always a messenger bag sitting at his feet. 

Perhaps he worked a desk job, or as an intern or assistant. He couldn’t be too sure. He also wasn’t of why he was entranced by the person each time he rode the bus. Nothing separated him from the ten strangers on the bus, but the way his face softened, eyelids heavy as he watched the world pass by, allured him closer. He wanted to know him, to push past the three feet between them and learn his story.

But today, it was different. The boy’s face rested against the glass, but his eyes were closed, brow furrowed and knitted together in a flicker of pain. He could make out slight perspiration across his forehead, sticking his usually fluffy bangs to his forehead. His heart fell to his stomach, a sickening dread rooting deep into his abdomen, planting itself there firmly. The pain flickering across the latter’s face was obvious, and he leaned forward, resting his forehead on the back of the seat in front of him, watching the stranger from the corner of his eye, his throat closed up. 

He jolted, his neck aching as the bus came to an abrupt stop; he looked up and saw the next stop just a few feet ahead- the stop the stranger always climbed off at. He sat back, his open palms resting against his thighs. The stranger seemed dazed, his eyes cracking open as the bus’s halt startled him awake. He wanted to get up- to offer him help, but fear of rejection kept him planted in his seat, stuck staring as the stranger staggered to his feet, tripping over the bag beneath him. The stranger kept his head hung, his shoulders slouched and body trembling as he bent to reach for the bag, but instead of grabbing it, the boy simply pitched forward.

“Hey!” He cried, scrambling forward and diving in front of the latter as he fell, trying to break his face-first descent with his body. He managed to catch him by the shoulders, the two of them crumpling in the aisle, the stranger pressed against his chest. He wrapped his arms around the stranger, breathing heavily as suddenly all ten blank faces turned to look at the two. “Hey, are you okay?” He had to ignore them for now.

The boy only stirred, pushing away from his chest as he fumbled for his bag. His cheeks were incredibly flushed, and the worry in his gut only grew. He put his hand on the sickly boy’s shoulder, grabbing the bag for him and gently pulling him up by the hand. The boy didn’t make any further attempts at protesting as he hoisted him up, escorting him off of the bus after whispering an apologetic thanks to the bus driver. He helped the boy down the steps; he staggered with one, his head lulling against his shoulder as it seemed the world tilted beneath his feet. Simply by holding his hand and shoulder, he could tell his skin was hot- entirely too hot for his liking.

The bus didn’t wait a second after they clambered off to drive away, the tires screeching and thick fumes bellowing in its wake. He coughed, shielding the sickly boy from the smoke before pulling him off over to the side, sitting him down on the bus-stop bench. He knelt down before him, trying to catch a glimpse at his face, his heart tugging and throbbing in his chest. He nudged his hand beneath his chin, lifting his head with a hitch in his breath.

His face was red and splotchy, sweat dripping down his temples and neck. His eyes were bleary, glazed, and half-closed. The fever searing and bubbling beneath his skin was vicious and unrelenting, and he was sure that wearing a sweater and collared shirt weren’t helping his condition. But he didn’t have the slightest clue as to how to help the stranger. He never expected himself to talk to the boy, let alone take care of him when obviously plagued with a fever. 

“Hey, uhm,” he hesitated, staring the stranger in the face. He had no idea what to do. “What’s your name?” 

The boy stirred, his lips parting in a sharp wince as he doubled over. His hands grasped for the sides of his head. He didn’t seem in any state to respond, the glossiness of his eyes doubling as tears, two stray crystals slipping down his reddened cheeks. His heart plummeted, and for a moment he couldn’t breathe.

“No, don’t cry,” he cooed, reaching up to lightly touch the hands now gripping and pulling at his hair. “You’re okay. My name is Hansol, I’m trying to help. What’s hurting you?”

The boy trembled, his breath trembling in his chest, and Hansol scowled at the heat radiating from his skin. He knew this could get dangerous very quickly, yet he couldn’t figure out what to do. He barely knew this boy, but he knew he had to get him to an emergency room or some kind of doctor. 

“Seungkwan-”

Hansol blinked, leaning closer with wide eyes. “Pardon?”

“My...name is Seungkwan,” the boy croaked, his voice incredibly hoarse, effectively breaking Hansol’s heart. “My...everything’s spinning.”

Hansol swallowed the thick, anxious lump in his throat. His words were soft and slurred, exhaustion dripping in his voice. What was the poor thing doing on the bus in such a pitiful state? The severity and intensity of the situation made something deep inside of him shift in discomfort. He usually joked around, having fun and goofing off with his close friends, yet when someone completely unconnected to him became so ill, he couldn’t figure out what to do with himself. He wanted to joke around, make the poor boy feel better, but there was little confidence in his actions. He could do nothing but sit there, awkwardly and gently cooing and shushing the boy as he whimpered, his fingers pulling at his hair. 

Reaching for his hands, pulling them away from his head, Hansol looked around helplessly. He wasn’t equipped to deal with this type of thing- he was only a barista. Unless a caramel macchiato with extra cream was the cure for whatever this sickness was, Hansol considered himself pretty useless. Seungkwan’s breath quickened and became hyperventilating, his hands trembling against Hansol’s palms. His skin was scalding, and he began to panic. The more the latter stressed himself out, the worse his condition could be, but Hansol was planted in place with fear and confusion. He wasn’t cut out for this-

“Seungkwan,” he whispered, reaching up to cup at the latter’s soft, tear-stained cheeks. He was sure if he wasn’t out of his mind in fever, he’d jolt away with discomfort, but instead he nudged his face against his palm. “Seungkwan, calm down. You need to breathe.”

The boy responded to his voice, tilting his chin upright to glance at Hansol. His expression- crestfallen and swollen- effectively broke Hansol’s heart. He kept one hand caressing his hot cheek, the other reaching for his cell-phone. His own hands were shaking so badly that he could hardly keep his grip around it. 

“Breathe with me,” he encouraged softly, sucking in a long, deep breathe and letting it go with an audible exhale. “You hear that? Piece of cake. Just follow along.”

 

With one hand, he texted his boss, letting her know that he’d be late, if not completely AWOL at work- that an emergency emerged that he couldn’t avoid and he’d come in as soon as he could. He listened to Seungkwan’s breathe carefully, the tightness in his chest alleviating with each shaky inhale the boy gave. 

He placed his phone down on the pavement next to him after sending the text, glancing up at the sickly boy before him. He needed to get him some help. “Seungkwan, is there anybody I can call?”

The latter simply shook his head, eyes scrunched shut as he ducked his head between his knees, moaning low in his chest. Hansol stood up from where he was crouching, his knees aching. He slipped onto the bench next to Seungkwan, rubbing circles into his lower back, reaching his other hand to rub at the nape of his neck. He didn’t care that he was sweaty, sick, and trembling; he just wished that he could do something. 

He leaned forward and grabbed his phone. He still rubbed at his back, typing in 911 and pressing the phone to his ear. He knew that if he were Seungkwan, the last thing he would want for his pride is to be wheeled off the side of the road for a fever, but the latter started to become unresponsive, and he didn’t trust himself to escort Seungkwan to a clinic safely. He had to make sure he was okay; there wasn’t anybody else to look after him.  
Someone would call him foolish, risking his job and health to help a complete stranger, but Hansol would argue that he was no stranger. Every day, they’d glance at each other; Hansol would see the cute little curl in his smile as he played games on his cell phone. He spent every moment on that bus wondering- wanting to know more about the baby-faced stranger. 

\----

It was only a couple of minutes before an ambulance arrived, thankfully with no sirens.

Seungkwan’s condition only worsened, his body completely slumped against Hansol as he moaned and whimpered about how the world would not stop spinning around him. Hansol could only hold him tightly and ensure him that help was on the way. He could feel each heightened step in his body temperature as the minutes passed, the sweat sticking to his palms as he cradled him. 

The paramedics climbed out of the ambulance, blue duffel bags strung around their shoulders. One was a woman, her hair pulled back tight in a bun, the other a lean man with double-eyelids and an earring. Hansol stared at them numbly, the worry numbing his nerves to the point where the woman had to pry them away. 

He vaguely heard the pair asking Seungkwan for his name, but he was unresponsive, head slumped down to his shoulder. The male paramedic grabbed Hansol’s shoulder, pulling him up off the bench and stirring him from his numbness. 

“Sir, do you know his name?” he asked, voice soft and calm.

Hansol blinked. “Ah- Seungkwan- He didn’t tell me his last name,” he said, gesturing his glance to the boy as the woman pulled him up, pressing her fingers to the inside of his wrist. “Is he okay? Is he going to be okay?”

The paramedic smiled. “I’m sure he’ll be okay once we get him settled,” he assured. “Step aside and let us work, okay?”

Hansol was left to helplessly stand at the side, watching the two medics hunch over Seungkwan as they moved him onto the stretcher just off of the curb. They whispered amongst themselves, the male wrapping something thick around Seungkwan’s upper arm, murmuring some numbers to the woman. He tried to see what they were doing, his stomach twisted in knots.

He did all he could do, right? He wasn’t a doctor. Hell, he didn’t even know this kid, but the worry completely turned him inside out. Seeing someone so plagued by fever and illness scared him, no matter who it was. But with Seungkwan, it hit him harder- the boy’s face was so soft and innocent looking that looking at him so defeated and ill broke him apart. 

He was numb when the male paramedic led him into the back of the ambulance after they loaded Seungkwan on a stretcher. The boy was merely lifeless, his eyes fluttered shut, face drained of all color. The only thing that indicated any life was the way his hands twitched and grabbed at the fabric of the pad beneath him, and the way his chest heaved with each shuddering breath he took. 

Hansol sat beside the sick stranger, slipping his hand into his, letting the boy’s sweaty, weak hand grip onto him instead. At the contact, the boy’s breathing seemed to calm, and Hansol felt his suffocating anxiety begin to settle. The young male paramedic fluttered around the back, slipping some kind of thermometer into Seungkwan’s ear before pulling back with a dissatisfied frown.

“What’s wrong?” Hansol insisted, eyes watering.

The paramedic shook his head. “His fever is spiking,” he said. “It’s a good think you called.”

Hansol swallowed a thick lump in his throat. This couldn’t be happening. He gripped Seungkwan’s weak hand tighter, his hands shaking and fighting off thick, burning tears.

“What’s your name?” 

Hansol looked up; the male paramedic was looking at him, his eyes soft and lips curled into a reassuring smile that actually dissipated the sickening tightness in his gut.

“H-Hansol,” he managed, averting his gaze and focusing back on Seungkwan.

“My name’s Joshua, and don’t worry,” the paramedic said, voice quiet. “You’re friend’s sick, but we can help him. You have to stay strong. For your sake and his.”

With those words, Hansol nodded and numbly gripped Seungkwan’s hand. He wondered who would be looking for him, if he was going to be fired from work, if he any other connections- someone who knew what to do. Hansol surely didn’t. The ride to the hospital was silent after that, and Hansol tried to ignore that his cheeks were covered in silent tears.

ㅡㅡㅡㅡ

“I couldn’t come in, Jeonghan-ah,” he whispered in exasperation, curled up in an incredibly hard and uncomfortable plastic chair in the waiting room. “I’m at the hospital…”

A doctor, an older man with wrinkles tugging at the sides of his cheeks and dimples, approached Hansol, his hands tucked inside of his pockets. “I have to go,” he sputtered into the phone before he hung up, tucking it away and looking up at the man expectantly.

“Are you here for Boo Seungkwan?” The doctor inquired, voice even and slightly accusatory.

“Yes- Seungkwan, yes,” he breathed, standing up and grabbing for his cross-body bag, his hands already beginning to shake. “Where is he?”

“I spoke to Seungkwan’s family. None of them claim to know you,” the doctor suddenly said. “What’s your relation to the patient?”

Hansol swallowed. How did this doctor manage to contact someone? “I… I don’t know him, really,” he began. “I was there when he collapsed; I’m the one who called the ambulance.”

The older man raised an eyebrow, and whether it was out of suspicion or curiosity, Hansol couldn’t tell. Eventually, after a tense and suffocating moment of silence, the doctor motioned for him to follow. He trailed after the man with his head hung- his eyes still stung and his head pounded- he wasn’t sure how long he spent in that chair, waiting for someone to update him, or to see the boy emerge looking flushed and sheepish. He would’ve preferred the latter.

It didn’t take long: just two rights and a left before Hansol came to face a broad wooden door, the small window cut inside of it showing the boy, Seungkwan, crumpled on the bed, wires practically burying him into the bed. Hansol felt his heart snap in two. He cranes his neck to look at the doctor, his eyes wide. “Can I..?”

The doctor pushed open the door with one hand, looking down at Hansol. “Visiting hours end in forty minutes.”

Hansol bowed his head, taking the weight of the door and stepping inside, his shattered heart plummeting into his stomach. He wasn’t sure what to do- what to say, but he had to see him, to make sure he was alright.

To his surprise, Seungkwan was awake, stirring and turning his head to glance Hansol’s way, eyes lidded but lips curled into a smile. “It’s you.”

Hansol gulped, stepping up beside the bed, his hands awkwardly tucked by his sides. “Seungkwan, I-“

“Thank you,” the boy croaked. “The nurses said that...I have some kind of infection. Something in my bladder or kidney, I don’t know. But they said if.. if you hadn’t called or helped me, I could’ve died.” 

“You don’t have to thank me,” Hansol argued, shaking his head and taking a seat beside the bed, his hands clammy.

Seungkwan didn’t respond for a moment, his pale but clear face pensive. “I always see you on the bus,” he said. “You always listen to music, but only in one ear.”

“You some kind of stalker?” Hansol teased. 

Seungkwan smiled, and by god if it wasn’t the most stunning thing Hansol had seen- “You’re the one who followed me off the bus.”

“I think I had a pretty good reason,” Hansol shot back, chuckling to himself. 

The amused expression on Seungkwan’s face faltered, and Hansol leaned forward in his chair, face knotted in worry. “Are you alright?” 

“I’m fine,” the boy whispered, rolling his head away and staring at the blank wall ahead of him. “I wish I could’ve met you another day. Another time. Just not like this.”

Hansol bit at his lower lip. He took a risk, reaching forward to grasp for the boy’s hand. “If not today, maybe we would never meet at all. Although it sucks it takes a kidney infection for me to actually get to talk to you.”

“You have no guts,” Seungkwan joked, the brightness returning to his cheeks as he glanced back at Hansol. “Want to have a do over?”

“How does after you get released sound?” Hansol tried. “I can take you to dinner?”

“You better.”

Hansol found peace in watching Seungkwan, the stranger he knew for so long but not enough, laugh and glow, even if it was against the stark, deadly white of hospital sheets. They’d meet again- and no longer was he the cute boy across the aisle of the bus.


End file.
